When You Say Nothing At All
by DreaminDaze
Summary: Bones finds Booth at the bar after the disaster with Hannah. Few words are exchanged, but somehow everything is said. Please read and review.


_I'd promised myself that I wouldn't jump into Bones Fanfiction during the Hannah-Booth-Brennan fray... But I recently watched Daredevil in the Mold (last scene when Booth and Brennan drink together) and I couldn't help myself. By the way, I apologize if I misheard the quote that spurned all this... _

_Constructive criticism, as well as reviews of course, is love. Enjoy!

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**When You Say Nothing At All **

"You sound… something."

The words seem stupid the moment they leave her mouth, so commonplace and so unlike her, as she takes her seat next to _him_ in the bar. Brennan can tell he's already downed a good amount of alcohol. Relatively drunk, he tells her, words slurred and broken. Not a drunk. But still, she's Bones, and she has always had something clever to say to her partner, whether he was lucid, inebriated, or otherwise impaired. Not this time.

This time, all she can say in the face of her beaten down partner - the one who won't look at her, who won't look anywhere but down at his drink, who behind the stony veneer screams an undertow of pain - is _something._

Booth doesn't say anything, just throws back another shot like he could drink until the end of the world, and it wouldn't matter too much.

But it matters to her.

It's illogical, irrational, all the things science isn't, all the things she's always supposed she herself isn't. It's emotional. And it's the strongest thing she's ever felt. Resolved, Brennan takes a firm seat next to him, her posture saying nothing but a resounding, _I am here for you._

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It only takes him a little while to start talking, and when he does the words that pour out are choked, the usual deep tenor of his voice overlaid with drink. She mentions Hannah. He doesn't want to hear it. So she watches instead, her heart figuratively - because _literally_ would be impossible - shattering, as he cringes through another shot.

"What is it with _women_," he asks, to no one, or maybe everyone, "that they just don't want what I'm offering here?"

The shot glass goes slack in Booth's hand, as his voice finally _finally_ breaks. It's then that Brennan wants desperately to say, _I want what you're offering. I need what you're offering, and I don't fully understand it, but I think it's beautiful._

But of course she doesn't. That would be so un-Brennan.

Instead, words start to fumble their way from Booth's mouth, and Bones is once again swallowed by his pain, emanating from him, but somehow clinging to him at the same time. Their eyes finally meet, Booth's hazy with pain and drink, Brennan's clear, but haunted with the chance she's missed. He stares at her, and she realizes he's asked her a question. _Stay and drink, or leave. There's the door._

She barely catches the last half of his wavering offer, something about finding her another FBI guy tomorrow, because she's already settled in for the night - or however long he needs. "I guess I'm drinking then," she says quietly, picking up a shot as proof and forcing it down her throat. It doesn't need to taste good; it just needs to be _what Booth needs_. Whatever that may be.

A bit more alcohol in her system, and she gets up the courage to ask,"Are you _sure_ those are all my options? Because, scientifically speaking, there are an infinite number of probable hypotheses, so long as one is willing to pursue them."

"Yeah, well, forget the hypotheses for the time being alright Bones? Now drink." Clumsily, he presses another glass into her hand.

She takes it from him, just to stop the alcohol from making its way down _his _throat, and lowers it to the table. "How about sitting, and talking? We're already doing that so I don't see how it can't be an option."

He laughs somewhat bitterly, "Fine, Bones. Is that what you pick then?"

"Yes," she answers with a slight nod.

"Well have fun talking to yourself."

She's silent for a few minutes, just long enough for Booth's increasingly addled mind to realize that Brennan hadn't spoken, when she said she'd be speaking. "What?" He asks.

"Talking to myself would be highly unproductive," she says, "So I decided the logical course of action would be to wait for such a time where you are ready to talk, if such a time arises."

"What if such a time doesn't arise?" Booth asks, taking another gulp of alcohol, and feeling a perverse satisfaction as it burned its way down his throat.

"Then I'll wait for it to arise," Brennan replies simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. He wasn't ready? She'd be here waiting.

The situation isn't unfamiliar to either of them. In fact, at that very moment, they are both thinking back to a time when they stood together on a cold sidewalk. When they'd been closer than ever before. When she hadn't been ready. When he told her he would move on and she had encouraged him to.

Through the haze of confusion, pain, and though he was unwilling to admit it, relief - because he and Hannah were tiring, not like him and Bones - Booth registers guilt. Here she is, doe eyed and innocent and in love, right in front of him, waiting for him. And there he had been, not too long ago, just as in love and telling her he would move on.

"Sorry Bones," he manages to choke out. "I should've - that night… If I hadn't… than all of this wouldn't have happened."

"All of what exactly?"

He gestures toward himself and the bar, and exclaims, "All of _this!_ I wouldn't have hurt you, by being with Hannah, or hurt me, by being with Hannah. You know I proposed to her? And you know what she said?"

Brennan nods sadly, understandingly, "She called me… and Booth I am so _so _sorry that things didn't work out for you."

"I'm not." He shakes his head fiercely, the edges of the room barely staying distinct. "I love her, but I didn't propose to her because I want to spend the rest of my life with her… but I need _someone_, Bones. Someone who'll be there for me, and I could be there for her, and we could just jump in together."

"Jump into where, exactly?" Bones asks, simple confusion written all over her face.

Booth shakes his head. "Never mind, I just… I wish I hadn't deluded myself for so long. Hannah told me, she isn't the marrying kind, and I am. It was never going to work."

"From- "

"- If you're going to start that sentence with 'From an anthropological standpoint', than you may as well stop now," he tells her, a weak smile on his face, '''cause I really don't think I can listen to it now…"

"I was just going to say that it's better you acted impulsively and proposed when you didn't want to, instead of having this happen a year down the road, when you _really_ want to."

They fall into a comfortable silence, Booth accepting Bones' words. It was better this way. That he'd fallen in love with the idea of Hannah, of _someone_ who was right for him, instead of falling in love with Hannah. Or maybe they were one and the same, and holy hell does his head hurt now, and for the love of God why is Bones still looking at him like that?

The reason for her stare becomes apparent a second later, "What exactly do you think you could've done to circumvent all of this?"

_Circumvent?_ _Okay, fine. _"I should've waited for you," He whispers, barely audible, "I should've held on a little tighter, loved you a little better, and maybe I wouldn't have gone to Afghanistan and you wouldn't have gone to Mapupu-"

"-Maluku."

"Sure, and maybe we'd be happy."

She has no retort, because it's all true. She hadn't been ready, and then she'd gotten ready, and at that point he hadn't been there anymore.

But Brennan knows what else is true, and she supposes _that_ is what he needs in that moment, "You hold on tighter than anyone I know, Booth. And anybody who knows you will tell you that you love them better than anyone else."

He shakes his head disbelievingly, and they both lapse into another long silence. This time, as she continues to stare at him, she has a quizzical look on her face, like he's a puzzle, and she's the genius trying to put it all together.

"How drunk are you?" She asks cautiously a second later.

"Relatively drunk. Not _drunk_ drunk. But drunker than usual…"

She bites down on her lower lip. Words had never come easily for her. Scientific words yes, but those that spoke of something deeper, of longing and love and forgiveness and regrets, those were always difficult to articulate. And now… it isn't the best of times. Surely not, not as he continues to drink himself into a stupor. (And she's certain that despite what he's trying to make her believe , he's almost there).

"Why?"

His voice shocks her back to reality, like so many times before. She peers into his eyes, and what she sees emboldens him. His eyes, telling as they always are, are still tinged with pain and loss, rather than clouded with forgetfulness and liquor. Booth is still sober, she can tell, and that scares her as much as it hardens her resolve.

"Do you still feel anything for me?"

He's taken aback at first, but then, as Booth starts to think about her question, he starts to realize. Yes, yes of course he still has feelings for her. He still loves her. She is the only one he'd be willing to see at this moment. She's the only one who could get away with making assumptions about how he feels in this situation, without getting decked across the face. She's the only one for him.

"Yeah, Bones, I still feel … something."

Brennan nods her understanding, not just for what he's said but what he's implied. She picks up her glass, realizing they've made a full circle since the conversation began, a full circle that marks more progress than the last year has.

_You sound… something._ Because lost, hurt, broken, and scared, are words too strong to put out there.

_I feel… something._ Because love, happiness, belonging, and soul mate, are words too scary to say to her.

But something, to them, is a promise of more. It's a promise of tomorrow; a tomorrow, a someday, when they'll be able to substitute the words they mean for the one word they can say. That one little word, is better than the millions of others they could pour out.

When she says _something_, she means that she is here for him, that she will wait for him, and that she will _still _be here when he pulls himself out of all of this. _Something_ encompasses all the eloquent speeches he wants to give about how he feels about her. _Something_ is enough, and they don't need to say another word.

Tonight, it's everything.

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_Aah. I'd love any feedback you can give me!_


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